Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini...

If by "itsy bitsy" you mean "providing respectable coverage" and by "teeny weeny" you mean "well fitting" and by "yellow polka dot" you mean "pink and blue with tropical flowers", and if by "bikini" you mean "tankini", then Yes. Exactly that.

You know, Dante forgot a few circles of hell.


Over the years I have compiled an ever growing list of the circles Dante forgot, including (but not limited to)

*Kenny G albums

*dental work of any kind

*stomach bug with kids too little to understand “mommy is not a bucket, hug me later, HUG me LATER!!!”

*bugs with legs in multiples of 8

*the “singing” of Britney Spears

*snowy days at school when it’s snowy enough to make the students berserk but NOT snowy enough that you get to stay home.

*gas station bathrooms

*bathing suit shopping

Ok, so bathing suit shopping should maybe be first on the list.

My husband can look in a catalog, see a colorful bathing suit that just looks like a pair of shorts, and order them. For me…sigh. Circle of Hell.



As a teen, my uber-Caucasian-ness made bathing suits of any kind a nightmare, because there is nothing more persistent or mortifying than the clamor of other teens marveling at how white you are. Well, I’m sure there are more mortifying things (I can think of a few, also involving bathing suits), but this was the daily ugh. When you are really, really , REALLY white, people remind you of it. Constantly. Derisively.

Really, WHO CARES? But as a 15 year old…I really, really did.

Now, post-3-kids, bathing suit shopping is no more fun. The uber-Caucasian thing, I don’t much care about. The inexorable progress of gravity on my maternal physique is a little harder to stomach (literally) while bathing suit shopping. Even though the number on the scale is the same as it was pre-kids, everything has king of just settled into a Giza like shape. Too bad they don’t make limestone-styled bathing suits, I could be a wonder of the world.

Anyway, a few weeks back I had to take my teen daughter bathing suit shopping. This was our first time not just ordering something from Lands End. Eek.

I prepared her for the potential of mental and emotional turmoil that can ensue when Nothing Is Quite Right, bathing suit wise. I told her we’d likely have to try on a lot of things. We might not find anything, that is OK! Every girl has trouble finding a bathing suit.

She was SO excited to get to the bathing suit section of the store…she is old enough to have to look in the grown up section, but very, very short. I knew we’d be in for a challenge, especially since her shape is not quite as curvaceous as most grown-up bathing suits allow for, if you know what I mean.

She raced from suit to suit, picking up impossible things (stay away from the D, sister!), bopping around happily.

The first suit on: She was posing, smiling, loving every second (especially since there was WAY too much structure in one portion of the suit, we were veering into alarming airfilled Dolly Partonesque territory—I told her Daddy would have cardiac arrest if she came home in that suit). Suit after suit, she giggled and posed and had a blast.

SHE HAD FUN TRYING ON BATHING SUITS!

Yes, she had to try on about a dozen suits, then re-try a few and then we made some decisions…she wasn’t bothered in the least when I said some things just didn’t look right, she just barreled on to the next choice.

”I Look FAB-ulous!” she sang at me, posing in a hot pink floral tankini covered in big flowers…

And I stopped, lycra skirt in hand, and told her to hold onto that her entire life. Hold onto that fabulous, that confident sense of “I am awesome in my 4’10” “curvy” self!” Hold onto that joy, that silliness, that laughing at when things don’t look quite right. HOLD ONTO IT!

She just struck another supermodel pose and giggled.

What a gift. If only she could bottle that and give it to other teens…heck, give it to her little sister, who seems to be a lot more like momma in the confidence department (ie out of stock, generally).

So this week, I learned that maybe my circles of hell are NOT my child’s. Maybe girls CAN celebrate themselves on their own terms, not the terms dictated to them in teen fashion magazines.

Maybe bathing suit shopping isn’t so bad after all…

But I’m still going to try to order from Lands End and avoid the dressing room altogether. ;)

Excuse Me, Your Stress Is Showing...

Excuse me, your stress is showing…




“Mrs. Camiolo,” one of my students called from the back of the room as everyone pulled out their textbooks for class. “You’re…you’re wearing flat shoes!”



Within seconds a full blown discussion of how odd my choice of ballet flats was broke out in the classroom. “You look so much shorter!” called this young lady (who, even when I am wearing flats, stands about 4 inches shorter than I).



I felt some surprise that my students NOTICED. I mean, really, I am an antique compared to them, my wardrobe is practically medieval (remember how old 40 seemed when YOU were 15? Egads!) . And most days I do make a conscious choice to wear tall shoes. I feel like it gives me an edge to be 5’10” in a classroom full of teens. I feel like An Official Teacher somehow, which is kind of funny since so many of the teachers of my youth were middle aged women who wore comfortable shoes and polyester slacks with a permanent crease, men who only had one pair of nondescript “school shoes” , or nuns, who wore the most practical (and often, no disrespect intended, not super snazzy) of footwear at all times. But for me, now, tall shoes = confidence.



Anyway, the moment amused me. I told them that by tomorrow I’d likely be in Converse, because that was just how my week /month/year was going. I did suggest that the Student Council members in my class work to get us a Chuck Taylor day, but I think that just confused them.



And once again, I was brought up short by the realization that yes, my stress is showing.



Granted, stress showing through the choice of flats over heels is really kind of silly. Ok, it’s not kind of silly, it’s uber-silly. But it’s real. I just didn’t have the mental energy to wear tall shoes. I just didn’t care.



I also noticed in the past week that people who know me at all KNOW that my normal answer to the question “how are you?” – “super fabulous, and you?”, is a big fat lie. People who know me less well (or just don’t feel like dealing with lurking drama) just take it as genuine (sigh, I’m sorry), but for the first time in the past week I’ve had folks (who I care about a lot) stop short and be all sympathetic and supportive when I give my stock response.



Hey, even my sarcasm is failing to hide the stress! This could be serious. Houston, we have a problem…



I’m not sure what you do when stress starts to ooze out from every possible crack. Sometimes exercise, vitamins, cutting back on caffeine, praying extra, trying to go to bed earlier, breathing deeply, shopping, eating chocolate, running, listening to music…sometimes NONE of these things even remotely take the edge off stress. Heck, if I hear the song “If I Die Young” ONE MORE TIME in my car, I am going to have a conniption. No joke, 3 times in the past 2 days!



Even trying every zenlike trick in the book, I still feel like I’m crawling out of my skin. My poor 9 year old keeps asking me at church if I’m ok, I look so sad. Aaaaagh! Dang.



For my kids, the ones I gave birth to AND the ones I teach, I have to find ways to keep my zen, even if it means stapling it to myself somehow.

I opted for my 3 inch heels again today, and my sophomores felt better (yes, they noticed). I may just bring an auxiliary cable in the car so I can use my iPod and avoid any unfortunate Band Perry incidents, and maybe I can bake something. Whatever I do, I have to figure something out, because just like a live performance of Nicky Minaj, nobody REALLY wants to see my stress showing.

So…anyone have ANYTHING else that I haven’t tried yet? Obviously the circumstances of life here are kind of epic, so within that context…what the heck do you do so YOUR stress doesn’t show?

Maybe I could go SHOE shopping…hmmm. That could be win win for all concerned…